The Light of Niamh
by neville 2.0
Summary: A story detailing the rise and fall of the Demon King from the point of view of such characters as Grado, Renais, Jehanna, and the other heroes, as well as those heroes forgotten by time. A very large project, that we will only continue if readers want.


AN: 800 years ago the Demon king, Formortiis, had the whole of Magvel under his control, three years after the defeat of Niamh, the goddess who had ruled over the world for as long as the texts had existed, for far longer than memory. His ascension to power was slow, spanning the entirety of three years, but steady. Though beginning to invade the world with his hordes of fiends from the moment he was summoned, it was not until the defeat of Niamh that his progress began to gain momentum. The defeat of their goddess was a crushing blow to the humans, yet there were still those who were able to rise up among their peers, to raise an army worthy of defeating the demon king. Now, only five of these heroes are recognized, but the true stories must be given, the true history revealed.

**Year 509; Light of Niamh: Year 1 of the Stones**

"Fine, if you feel that way, why don't you just leave!" The shrieking voice followed him out the open door and into the night.

"I already am" The boy yelled back, shouldering a pack from just inside the doorway before turning to leave.

"Wait, Joseph, I lo-" The slamming door cut off his mother's words.

Looking out into the dark night, he wondered where he should go. The thoughts lasted only a second before he knew; there was only one place he _could _go, after all. He would go to Heather's house. Heather always had a way of making him feel better, even more so as of late.

He set off onto the main road, only to veer off onto a small, nearly indistinguishable trail leading into the woods. They had created it when they were young, greatly reducing the travel time between their two houses, and it had seen a great deal of use the past few weeks. The trees overhead allowed the light of the moon no entrance, and the path was only barely visible by day, but he had walked it so often before, he could have closed his eyes and not even stumble over a root or rock.

Making his way along the trail, he realized just how late it truly was. What if it was too late to be calling upon Heather, the moon had been up and shining for around a quarter of an hour already… Perhaps he should just return home and make amends with his mother, they had already had enough happen to them already without adding fighting to the list. Yet the allure of seeing Heather, coupled with the fact that he had already left, convinced him that making up could wait.

His thoughts wandered to what he would tell Heather about this fight. Surely she must be weary from hearing of all the others, especially since every fight was essentially the same one. She would probably be angry with him for bringing the same problem to her. And yet… he knew she would be sympathetic, he had never seen a day where she did not wish to help others with their problems. Getting her to deal with her own problems was the true work. No, Heather wouldn't mind, it was his conscious that was going to undergo the most discomfort, taking advantage of her nature as he was.

The trip through the woods didn't last too long, thoughts of Heather, as of late, seemed to have a strange effect on time, though the throbbing of his shoulder told him that bringing his pack, containing enough for him to have a good three day journey before needing to restock, may have been a bit much. He hadn't actually planned to leave for any length of time, just scare his mother by bringing it along.

The familiar cottage was illuminated by the light of the moon along with the features of the small clearing. The place looked particularly peaceful in this nighttime setting, and he felt a bit of pride as the thought _my second home _drifted through his mind. Heremembered helping Heather's father build the small, sturdy shed a few paces from the cottage, and had even helped with repairs to her father's workshop, where he made glass for windows and other things those in the village needed. This was certainly his second home.

Approaching the small cottage, he caught sight of the embers of a dying fire through the den window. He had arrived at a good time, her parents wouldn't be aware of his presence, and Heather would not yet be asleep. Slowly he worked his way around the house, careful not to cast a shadow over the moon's light that shone into her parent's bedroom. Upon reaching her window, he lightly knocked their special knock, created he couldn't remember how long ago.

The window opened almost instantly, as if she had been ready for his arrival, startling him. Yet, despite the speed with which she had opened her window, her telling off was delivered even faster.

"Not again! Joseph." Her voice was alarmingly loud.

"Shh. I'm sorry. I don't exactly _plan_ it you know."

Heather just shook her head, the ponytail into which she had put her hair for bed swinging gently with the motion. "I just wish you two would give it a break. It only hurts the both of you."

Though she spoke more softly this time, he still feared her voice would carry. If he didn't find a way to quiet her soon, her parents would be here and wondering just what he was doing at their daughter's window this late. Not that he really had anything severe to fear from them, they were good people, treated him practically like a son, it just wouldn't be… the greatest of circumstances in which to be found.

"Hey, look, why don't we just go to the creek, rather than wake your parents." A fine suggestion, he thought, and was glad to have thought of. Ever since they had been children they had gone to the creek when they decided not to be found. They had discovered the place, a small stretch of the creek bank sheltered by the giant roots of an old Banai tree, during a game of hide-and-seek. As far as he knew, they were the only two people to know about the spot, surprising, as it was only a short walk from this point.

He could tell Heather was not too enthused about the situation with his mother, but the allure of going to their spot on such a peaceful night swayed her. Grasping the windowsill with both hands, she made a graceful leap out the window. Graceful, that was, until her toe snagged on the windowsill.

With a yelp of surprise that she seemed only barely able to muffle, she twisted in the air, managing to remain upright. Still, upon landing, she had to grab one of his hands with her own to steady herself.

Suddenly he was aware of the softness of her skin on his. Disturbing, yet strangely comforting, he added the sudden awareness to an increasingly larger list of new sensations and observations he had been experiencing as of late. They had held hands before, plenty of times before, but never had he noticed what perfectly soft skin she had. Perhaps she was using a different soap in the laundry that made her hands softer. Yes, that was it.

"Are you okay?" He asked after she had steadied herself.

"Fine, thank you." She replied, giving a small smile. His heart gave a little lurch forcing him to reevaluate his earlier thoughts. There was no way that laundry soap had caused that.

She let go of his hand, walking in the direction of the creek. He quickly followed, his hand still tingling from the contact. They made their way through the woods wordlessly; content to enjoy the gentle chirping of the crickets along with the entire symphony of night noises he had no name for. They would talk after they had reached the Banai.

In the silence, and with nothing else to do, his mind inadvertently went back to the list of new sensations. They had begun at the beginning of the year, when he had realized that Heather had pretty hair. Only that was an understatement of what he had thought that day; rather, it had been along the lines that she had _beautiful _hair.

It had been on the day of the annual winter games that took place on the first day of the New Year. They had decided to meet with each other before going to the opening ceremonies. He remembered, and knew that he would likely remember until the day of his death, the way the sun had shone off of her sleek, black hair, how the utter contrast between her hair, her snow white winter cloak, and the pure white snow emphasized its beauty.

On that day he had just figured the cold had already gotten to his head. But now, walking behind her on this warm summer night and fully able to appreciate how her hair blended with the night, yet shone with the moon's brilliance, he knew that he would have to move past denial. No, it hadn't been the cold, and it wasn't laundry soap. He had simply fallen in love with his best friend.

He felt a swelling in his chest at the thought. To have finally admitted it to himself was wonderful, and if she had turned at that moment the smile on his face would surely have made her suspicious of his thoughts. Then, suddenly, he realized the implications of the situation.

He and Heather had been friends for years. What if that was all she wanted it to be? Sure, he had finally admitted his affections for her to himself, but how would he tell _her_? How could he _not _tell her, lest another take her up? The smile disappeared. Before he could come to any kind of conclusion on what to do, they had reached their spot.

The ground in this area of southern Dirn was wet more often than not, and this spot was certainly no exception, perhaps even epitomized the rule. Their sandals made a wet, squelching sound as they walked around the exterior roots and found their way inside the curtain of roots. Here, with the roots of the tree that was nearly a forest in itself descending among them, the light of the moon barely shone through, though they had little need of light, there was not another place on the earth that either knew better. Once there they made their way to the smaller, though still rather thick, roots that seemed to have grown for the sole purpose of seating them, coming to rise a good two feet above the ground. Once situated, Heather spoke.

"So. It's about your brother again, isn't it." Her tone turned the question into a statement. Though her words were rather crude, her voice had a soft quality, caring. What he could make out of her face matched those qualities.

"Yes." He replied lamely. There was nothing else to say. She was caring, but excuses counted little with her.

"And have you talked to your mother about it, without shouting, like I asked you to?"

"No," Joseph began, before she cut him off.

"No!? How is talking to me going to help you at all if you never talk to her? She's the one you're feuding with!" Somehow she was combining both anger and sympathy in her voice, creating much the same effect as he was sure the lobster in the pot enjoyed before it began to boil and he realized what was for dinner.

"You help calm me." He muttered, realizing just how thin an argument he did have, now that he was calmed down. Thin enough as to be transparent.

"You wouldn't need to be calmed if you'd just talk to her once about it, about how _he_ wouldn't want you two fighting. I don't even understand, what is there to fight _about_? Shouldn't you two be grieving?"

"It's not that simple. Nathan was the glue holding our family together. He just… had that effect. It's hard to pretend everything is normal when it's not. And the fact that it happened right after the _one_ fight he and mom had ever had is somehow _my _fault, by her reckoning." That was the reason he found it difficult to talk with her. If she could just let go of that one argument, they would get along fine. Oh, but how he missed Nathan. Nathan had always made things right when something went wrong in the family.

Heather rose from the root directly opposite his own, walking over and making him move over to accommodate her on his root, placing an arm around his shoulders. Despite the subject of the current conversation, his heart couldn't help but to speed up. Suddenly he found himself wanting to change the topic, vowing that he would have that talk with his mother if only they could have a conversation more cheerful than the current one. What he really needed right now was her smile.

"I know that must be difficult, having your mother seeming to place the blame on you, but she's going through quite an ordeal as well. And I'm sure you've made your share of accusations." There was another twinge near his heart, but this one felt horrible, nothing like the ones she gave him. He realized that she was right. He remembered back to when he had accused his mother, saying that it was _her_ fault for arguing with Nathan, that she had caused him to go and drink and get in the fight. Heather looked at him, seeing the look on his face, and nodded in understanding. She grabbed one of his hands with her free one, giving it a small squeeze.

"So just talk to her, she'll understand. Your brother would never had wanted you two fighting."

They remained like that, her hand on his, her arm around his shoulders, and the soft murmur of the creek just beyond sight washing the pain away and replacing it with peace. After a while, she spoke, "This place is so soothing, it's almost magical, isn't it?"

He nodded; feeling a great deal more at peace than he had recently, though he wasn't entirely sure the creek was to blame. Without thinking, he placed his free hand on top of hers, trapping her hand between his own.

Looking up quickly, perhaps too quickly, to see her reaction, his heart gave yet another lurch. Though the light was limited, they were close enough that he could see the smile grow on her face. He suddenly realized that not only was her smile beautiful, but the lips that formed it were looking increasingly kissable. The thought failed to surprise him as much as he would have expected. It was at this point that she decided to ask The question. A question they had frequently used to fill silences that had become prolonged, and a question that through its very nature demanded truth, lest it show that one did not trust the other.

"What're you thinking?"

He felt his face grow red as his hands began to sweat, and was suddenly grateful for the poor lighting, though it would do nothing to help her miss his perspiring hands. What could he say, what was he supposed to say? A small sound escaped his throat, though it lacked any guidance through which to become words. She leaned a little closer, looking almost expectant. It was then that he realized that she already knew his thoughts, and that he knew what he would do.

Leaning forward, he closed the distance to her smile. His heart beat a pattern onto his chest as he caught her lower lip between his own. The tingle, the shock, reverberated downward, passing through his lips, through his entire body, seeming to flow in waves originating from the point of contact and from the core of his very being simultaneously, running down through his body until it reached the tips of his toes and ears, exiting to allow for the next wave of pleasure.

Joseph leaned back, releasing her lip from his, planning to see whether or not she had enjoyed the experience as well, when she used the arm she had placed around his shoulders to pull him back, trapping him in the position by releasing her other hand from his grip and wrapping that arm around his neck also. Not that he really minded being trapped.

The second kiss was more forceful, her lips melding to his in a most desirable fashion. He wrapped his arms about her waist, pulling her closer, forcing their lips together even harder. He couldn't believe the ecstasy resulting from her warm, soft lips, this time the waves of pleasure melding together, creating the effect of finally being filled, complete.

As the kiss slowed, he reached up with one arm and ran his fingers through the (unwitting) object of his desire for the past few months. The feel of her silken smooth hair sent shivers through him, only to be compounded as he traced her lips with his tongue. The act sent a shiver through her as well, and his heart swelled at the thought that he could please her.

Time lost all meaning as the kiss drew out, and whether it had lasted a minute or a year Joseph could never tell, for all too soon and yet after an eternity of ecstasy they parted.

They sat in silence for a few moments, the full reality of what had just happened rushing in on them. Never before had he truly seen this as a possibility, she had always been just a friend after all. Finally, she broke the silence.

"Mmm. Why haven't you ever thought that before?" She asked, that beautiful smile boring its way, once more, into his heart.

"I don't know," He replied, "but I'm sure that oversight will be made up for, I don't think I'll ever think of anything else ever again."

Once more they fell back into complete silence, not a sound could be heard from anything but the creek. Not a single sound. Even the crickets seemed to have ended their nighttime music early, the screeching cicadas retired early. But that wasn't right. The forest was always alive with the music of the night.

"Do you hear that?" he asked, beginning to fear it portended something ill. Heather cocked her head to the side, listening.

"I don't hear… anything. Nothing at all." Her face showed her fear.

"C'mon, let's go to my house, it's closer. If anything's out here, that's our best chance." He said, grabbing her hand and standing.

"But my parents, what if they find me gone?"

Joseph nearly responded 'better gone than dead', before a scream issued from the direction of his house. His mother was in danger. Seeing the look in Joseph's eyes, Heather nodded. "Let's go."

They ran through the woods and toward the trail, branches whipping across every unshielded part of their bodies. As they ran, one thought was running through his mind. What if something happened to his mother and he never saw her again? Suddenly he was bombarded with a memory, a memory that he didn't like in the least.

_He was walking to his room, believing it was about time that he turned in for a long and painful night of staring at the ceiling, the memory of the last words his brother_ _had exchanged with mother reiterating themselves tirelessly as he saw his brother as he had been, laying in his coffin only moments before the lid was shut. As he passed his mother's room, a sound caught his attention; pressing close to the door he recognized the sound of muffled crying emanating from within. Remembering, from his father's death, how his mother had claimed to be comforted from the presence of Nathan and himself, he opened her door slowly, seeing her laying on the bed, facedown._

_He entered quietly, though not so quietly as to not warn her of his presence and alarm her, sitting down on the bed beside her. He stroked her hair as she cried into the pillow, allowing her to cry herself out, and wishing that he, too, were able to cry. But the shock was still too strong in him; it would be days before he could finally release his emotions, if ever._

_Finally, after an eternity, his mother sat up, moving beside him and putting an arm around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder._

"_I'm sorry, Joseph. You shouldn't have to see me like this." Her tone seemed to pull at his eyes, extracting a small amount of salty moisture. _

"_It's okay, mom, I understand." He said, wishing to comfort her as well he could._

_His mother sighed, "It's just so hard, Joseph, knowing that I will never have the chance to make up with him now, knowing that he died without knowing that I loved him. I loved him so much, Joseph, you two mean everything to me. After your father died, it was you two that brought me through it." She let out a small sob._

"_It's okay mom, really. Nathan knew you loved him, there was never a day you didn't give us a speech about how much we meant to you, and how much you loved us." He said, hugging her tightly. Mom's sobs only increased, he had said something wrong._

"_That's the point. There was _one _day that I didn't tell him, and now I'll never be able to make up for it. I swear Joseph, from this day forward I will not allow anyone I love to leave my sight without telling them I love them. I will not make that mistake again." Once more she fell into uncontrollable sobs, hugging him close…_

_And now what have I done? _He thought to himself.

He felt the sting of forming tears at the corners of his eyes as they hit the trail, remembering the way he had shut the door on his mother's words, how he had not returned them. Had he made the very same mistake as his mother? The thought was unbearable. He ran harder, Heather barely keeping pace. Slowly his small cottage came into view.

He noted that there had been a lack of screaming for the past couple minutes, and began to pray to Niamh that they had only heard a wildcat of some sort, that they would find his mother safe and in bed. They were now at the door.

His heart sank as he saw the claw marks all around the entrance, and the splintered door, barely hanging from its hinges. He went inside, dragging Heather along, only barely aware that he still had a powerful grip on her hand. Walking boldly into the cottage, he turned straight into the den, the entire room revealed in the flickering light of the fireplace. His eyes were drawn instantly to the shape in the center of the room.

Suddenly his stomach made the most painful movement he had ever experienced, and it was all he could do through his revulsion to not throw up. In the center of the room was a horrid, rotting corpse, and it was moving. The monster was hunched over something; he looked down to see what it was.

The sight hit him with a shock so powerful it amounted to the same feeling of a physical punch to the gut. There, in the center of the floor, beneath the monster, lay the broken and bleeding body of his mother, a look of terror and agony etched permanently on her face. Beside him, Heather gasped.

Hearing the noise, the monster looked up, revealing the bloated, yet still familiar face. Joseph fell back a couple steps as he realized to whom the animated corpse had belonged. The monster had the form of Nathan. Joseph stumbled back a few steps, wondering how such a thing were possible, how Nathan had come back, before he saw the blank and distant look in the eyes of the creature. To his limited relief he realized that Nathan was not in there, something else occupied that body.

Stumbling back a couple of steps, he turned, also forcing Heather to spin, intent upon fleeing the cottage. One glance at the doorway told him differently. One of the creatures stood, illuminated by the light of the moon, blocking the doorway. Realizing what he had to do, he grabbed the fire poker from beside the fireplace, then turned to Heather.

"Heather, I'm going to attack the one in the doorway. I want you to run, run and grab your parents, then go to the village. Warn everyone of the threat. I'll meet you there."

Heather stared at him blankly, and he could tell she was just barely registering his words, but he knew she would listen. He prepared himself to charge the monster, who was still standing in the doorway, seeming to be patiently waiting, as if he knew Joseph's plan to clear the way for Heather. Heather readied herself to run. Before he charged he decided on just a few more words, words that he knew would be his last, words that would save him from his mother's, and then his own, mistake.

"Oh, and Heather, I love you."

**Three Years Later**

General Grado leaned against the rail of one of the upper balconies, branching off of the temple room of the goddess Niamh. The low cadence of the monks' prayer drifted to the balcony as he gazed off into the clear night sky. The stars shone brightly from the dark sky, as beautiful as ever. His gaze shifted downward, taking in all that the stars revealed in their light.

The castle grounds, usually bare and empty, were now covered with the entire Dirnian royal army, with some additions. The refugees from the countryside, those who carried stories none believed, at least, that none had believed until tonight. Most of the refugees had taken arms, all those of able body, anyway, intent on destroying those who had ruined them. Such was their faith in the so far undefeated army of Dirn.

He searched through the ranks, looking for any point that may be weak, excepting, of course, for the areas held by the refugees. They had been placed in the least crucial of points, most were gathered where they could route their enemies towards the punji pits without getting in the way of the other units, but he still feared that it was all for naught. He also felt as if he were missing something. He _was_ missing something; the monks. His eyes finally fell upon his own place. He would have to report quickly, lest that spot remain vacant. It was bad enough to have to face this army without the aid of light magic.

But what was the point? Even if the castle were able to throw off the demon's army, what would the rest, the villages that the stars were not quite strong enough to illuminate, do? Would Dirn, eventually, find a way to free the survivors? If only the king had allowed them to warn the villages of the possible doom. But the king still had faith in the monks, and more, in their goddess Niamh, so why hadn't he? Somewhere out there, he imagined, is a pair of young lovers, or perhaps a family, gazing in wonder at the beautiful night sky, believing all to be at peace. After all, why shouldn't they believe that? It was just a few years ago that the eight nations had given up their fighting, and all had finally been put to peace. Why would they suspect violence would once again return?

He berated himself for such philosophical musings mere minutes away from a battle that was all but inevitable. As if to accent the short time left to them, the prayers of the monks ceased. Grado quietly cursed, though he suspected there was no longer a deity to punish such things any longer and he may have done so as loud as he pleased. If he were to get stuck up here as the battle began…

Quickly he left the balcony, throwing one last, probably useless prayer to the goddess for speed purely out of habit. Just as he entered the temple room, the monks' prayer began once more, though softer this time, exhausted. Grado cursed the monks, though in his head rather than aloud, cursing in the temple would never settle well for him. Why did they not see the goddess was, for all intents and purposes, dead, and that lending her their strength, rather than the army, was folly? He knew their next silence would be their last, and longest. Yet not all monks were as stupid as the majority of this group.

Claude looked up to see Grado leaving, and stood to leave himself. Claude had been one of Grado's best friends from childhood, and the only friend he could still call friend from that time. Claude was known by some as the rogue monk. Despite his great power in light magic and being raised in the church, he had been able to maintain a philosophy stressing the power of the individual human, a philosophy very similar to Grado's.

"Hail, General Grado. How fare the men on the eve of this epic battle?" He called across the room, strolling across the floor with a pronounced bounce in his step. There had never been one more carefree then Claude. Or luckier, despite that fact.

"Claude, they fare well, for now, but without the monks…" he allowed the sentence to hang and was surprised to see Claude smile at the grim notion. Without the light magic of the monks, they were ill prepared to face the necromancers of Formortiis.

"Ah, but we have me, my friend. Formortiis may have had the power to destroy Niamh, but of my power he has heard not, nor the power of General Grado and his men. Luck is with us, as mortal legend escapes the sight of those with the arrogance of gods."

Grado laughed. How one such as Claude had been accepted into servitude to the goddess Niamh with thoughts such as these he would never know. "Ah, the arrogance of gods. And what of the Naïveté of those with arrogance even greater than that of the gods?"

"Arrogance, or confidence?" Claude asked, looking straight at him, the monk's face sporting a look every bit as serious as he had ever seen on his friend. "Limits are an obstacle only to those that have not tapped the power of the unlimited soul. There is, after all, always a way, it is simply the journey that varies."

To have Claude so serious on a matter was distinctly disturbing, though his nearly meaningless ramble served to calm some. He was always coming up with some sort of philosophical musings that he decided to 'test aloud' for Grado. It was clear, however, that Claude was currently in need of jest. "Careful," he warned Claude, "continue talking like this, and you just might start your own religion." He looked over to see his reaction to this. Rather than laughing, or even chuckling as he had expected, Claude looked all the more grim.

"That just may be what it takes for the light to persist." He said, solemnly.

Their conversation had carried them down to the main hall of the castle. Grado looked about the vast space, empty but for a few of the messengers the battalion commanders used to communicate. One of the aforementioned approached him, bearing the seal of his second in command.

Grado nodded, "Spread the word, we must prepare for the worst siege you can imagine, we have no way of knowing what fiends Formortiis will be able to summon up, but I suspect they will be strong."

The man swallowed rather heavily, but gave no other outward sign of his fear. He was strong, as were the rest of the men. The messenger left the way he'd come, calling for the men to prepare for battle. Grado went farther down before leaving through the large double doors that were the main entrance to the castle, followed by Claude. Before they had completely left the castle, Claude stopped him, sporting a serious look that he had seen only rarely on his face.

"Sir Grado, a personal question if I may?"

He mentally cringed, Claude's questions always hit hard, brought out the truth. But Grado had learned from the past that the truth, however painful, lent strength in the end. "You may."

"If it were to become clear, that we would not win this fight, would you… retreat, allow yourself to find others and regroup?"

He began to say never, that to retreat was worst kind of failure, but stopped to think instead. Claude had ways to argue his first thoughts on a subject. As Grado thought, he realized what Claude was saying.

"You believe he will be too powerful for our army?" It came out more an accusation than a true question, though he realized he had been having thoughts along the same line. The prospect of somebody else having those thoughts, however, seemed to make the possibility all the more real.

"This army consists mainly of those dedicated to Niamh, whom Formortiis was able to defeat. I believe we should retreat, allow the demon to rule, and search all the lands for the strongest souls. It would also give us time to find his weakness."

"And if he is able to gain power as he rules, and becomes undefeatable, what then?" They had now fallen back into a game of devil's advocate, a game they had always found to give the best answer.

"If any were to be invincible, I would have thought it of Niamh. Her defeat alone should prove the absence of invincibility.

Grado was about to respond when he felt eyes boring into their backs, a few of Grado's men had overheard the conversation. It was unnerving, just how quiet the entire army was, and he wondered to himself how many had heard.

"Wishful thinking." he muttered, more for the sake of the men that were still eavesdropping. It would not do to have them thinking their general may actually be considering a solitary retreat.

"Truth." Claude answered, thought for his ears alone, fading away from the cavalry unit. Grado was simultaneously glad and sad to see him leaving, wondering if he was leaving the castle itself already, or just retreating to watch the battle from afar.

Grado took the reins from the young boy charged with the care of his mount, silently vowing to himself that he wouldn't have to face the choice Claude had introduced, there were too many young in the castle, much like this one. As soon as he had mounted, the boy ran back inside the castle, he knew he wouldn't want to be around when the battle started.

Grado surveyed the courtyard before the castle. Nine hundred of the elite royal army covered the grounds within the walls, and another two thousand amassed outside. Of the innermost nine hundred, three groups of three hundred were organized into battalions sporting the basic units for every army. Nine hundred in all. That was all the King could scrounge with short notice and that was not counting the thousand outside the walls. Half of those men had never seen a battle and the other half never fought against such odds.

As he looked to either side he realized the torchlight seemed to create the illusion of even more men, caused the mind to fabricate the existence of more in the shadows. He briefly hoped this would serve to Dirn's advantage. Though far from his first battle in the night, this would be his first battle against the night.

Suddenly a powerful shriek rendered the air, the sign from the wyvern riders positioned on the wall that the enemy was now approaching. Sure enough, only moments later, the sound of battle cries rose from behind the walls.

He listened to the sounds of distant battle, waiting for the arrival of Rolf, who would be teleporting to him with an estimate of the enemies' numbers. His wait was filled with the interruptions of various officers' messengers, checking up on a thousand small points. Still, through it all, he longed for the true strategy required when on the field, and not behind walls. With a hollow sort of sound, Rolf appeared beside him, the air around him shimmering as if from a great heat, then returning to normal as he stepped forward and gave a slight inclination of the head.

"Sir, I'm…I'm not sure how to say this, but, I haven't the slightest idea as to how many the enemies army consists of, we… we simply cannot see that far." Grado winced. It was more Rolf's actions than his words that had done it, however. Though never the most stoic natured person he'd ever met, Rolf had seen his fair share of fighting, and something that had such a prestigious magic user in this state was definitely worth considering a  
threat.

"If you can't see that far, send scouts, and have you instructed the sages to use fire? Fire was reported to be their main weakness, from the raids in the south." Already the increase in control and knowledge was calming his nerves, though the fact that their numbers were unknown was something he had never come across before and wouldn't want to ever again.

"Yes sir, as per your instruction we informed the sages of that particular weakness before the battle, and as for scouts, we sent two pairs of our highest ranked falcoknights for an estimation." Rolf reported, seeming to have fully composed himself.

"And one last thing before you return to the battle, has using the torches as weapons produced any results?" Grado inquired hoping that it did indeed work and that, after igniting one fiend, it could be driven back into it's own ranks, spreading the fire.

"I was not present long enough at the battle to observe any such actions, but will be glad to inform you on my next report."

"Then that is all, I will be wanting your report should the enemy cut down a half and then a half of the forces outside the castle gates." Rolf just nodded, then turned, the air taking up the shimmering quality as he faded from sight, as if in a mist.

After he had left, Grado found the nerves once more returning, though it was far from unmanageable. Yet, for a moment, he found himself wishing he were once again the field general, that he was no longer the one to control the forces inside the walls. Though all other aspects of the job were much better, the pay, the lower risk of death, the reputation were all better, he still found himself missing controlling a group out in the open, where  
he could make active decisions rather than wait for the enemy to come to him. And the charge, how he missed the charge! He sighed, looking around at the nine hundred men who were probably thinking along the same lines as he was.

Those from his regiment had all been drafted upward into the elite palace guard after superior performance on the battlefield, resulting in a loss of experience even before the period of peace, as none had ever before breached the gates of the castle; and now he wondered just how truly elite they were. Sadly, he estimated, this may be the time when he got to find out.

Grado sent two of his own messengers to the battalion commanders on either side relaying the information he had been given by Rolf, at the same time trying to make it seem a little less hopeless than it felt, than it probably was. Then he began to watch the night sky, searching for the form of one of the falcoknights with the estimate. His wait was not too arduous, and thus gave a small measure of hope that the numbers they faced  
could be dealt with.

Lea flew in, landing her pegasus gracefully beside him and dismounting in one seamless movement. "General Grado sir, I have the estimates of both the enemy army and our own success rate."

He nodded for her to continue, knowing that, if not encouraged, she would stand at the ready without relaying the news up to and past the point that the enemy had swallowed them.

"We estimate the enemy force to consist of approximately ten thousand fighting units, and yet they have a conspicuously low count of support caravans. There have also not been any airborne units discovered as of yet. So far our army has killed at a rate of three of their units to our one." He was astounded. Blood! Ten thousand units? He did the math in his head, finding that this meant that they would have an occupational force of at least one thousand should their rate not increase. He would not have believed her, and in fact had found troubles believing her accuracy even during his time as a field general, but time after time post battle analysis had proven the accuracy of her estimations.

"That's quite a number, Lea, so what exactly accounts for their high mortality rate? Normally an army outnumbered cannot pull off such rates, not even a royal army of such high stature as Dirn's"

Her lips thinned slightly as she thought on how to word the next statement, revealing great stress when on such a usually disciplined face, and foreshadowing news he wouldn't like. "Our initial success was due to the implementation of fire against their ranks, but they have developed a counter to such methods, along with having had nearly wiped out the entirety of our sage contingent"

"Sage contingent?!" He coughed holding back a multitude of curses. What was Sherman (the new general on the field) thinking, lumping all the sages together? With the range of their fire, they would fare much better sprinkled throughout the other infantry.

"Yes, sir, the others tried to convince him of the folly of the plan, but he figured that together they could hit harder and faster, and you know how persuasive he can be." She was still attempting to look composed, but was slowly slipping. Grado decided to let her back into the sky, where she found it best to leave her troubles.

After she was gone he let his mind begin to wander once more, pondering the words that he and Claude had exchanged before the battle. Now considering Sherman's blunder Claude's words began to sound more logical.

Or was it just cowardice that spurred these thoughts? Admittedly he had been forced to call retreat several times in the past, but there had been some key differences. Firstly, it had only been on raids or attacks that had a specific goal in mind, in which he would only retreat once the goal had been accomplished. Never before had retreat occurred while leading a full sized army.

And secondly, more importantly, never before had he retreated alone. Much like the captain of a ship, he had always believed there would be no exception to the rule that he must go down with his army. Yet, was it not his duty to insure that those to the north were warned and able to form some sort of defense against the darkness now consuming their lands?

Suddenly Rolf was back by his side, looking much the worse for wear in robes, previously colored green as was required by his sect, that were now mostly the color of soot, earth, and what he assumed to be the gore of the fiends.

"Sir, I…apologize for my lateness, but…" Rolf cut himself off with a series of coughs that made only a soft wheezing sound. His hand moved to cover his side, partially covering a shallow puncture wound.

Noting Grado's eyes on his wound, he began to explain, sporting a small smile, the kind you get directly after surviving an event that should have killed you, "A poison arrow, but I've taken the antitoxin."

"And why was our primary messenger taking part in the battle?" Grado knew this had been another one of Sherman's misguided tactics. The man was daft on the battlefield and had only gained the position through favour with the king and an admittedly large repertoire or theoretical knowledge of battle.

"General…General Sherman kept me, ordered me to use my fire against them, as if it would make a difference. But that's irrelevant now, General Sherman will not be commanding again."

Grado nodded, turning to look at the gates through which the fiends would soon attempt entering. Atop the walls above the gate, men were also awaiting the right moment, standing beside the weapon that was the pride and power behind the nation of Dirn. Many names were given to this weapon, the most notable being liquid fire and sea fire, these due to the powerful burning of the incendiary used and the ability of their most prestigious sages to cause it to flow in the direction needed; the second name came from its ability to float and burn on water, giving the navy undeniable advantage. Because the fire could not be put out until all the fuel was burnt away, the army trained specific groups of sages solely in the area of manipulating the flow of the liquid fire, a task that required specific knowledge of its composition. The only way to extinguish the fire prematurely was to void it with dark magic.

"They will be through soon, and in my honest opinion I don't believe the fire will work, they have dark magic users on their side."

"And yet we must still try. You're relieved of your duties for the duration of this battle." Grado turned back to Rolf, scanning the area to see if anyone was watching, "go get your wound healed, and then get out of here. Go to the Union; inform them that I will be arriving. While there, you are to inform them of the threat, get them to begin raising their  
defenses. If I am not there within a week, I will most probably be dead, and you are released from your duties to Dirn. Have you got all that?"

"Yes sir." Rolf responded, raising a fist to his chest in salute. Grado turned as he left; glad that someone at least would be able to carry warning. He turned back to the gates, checking to see the torchbearers standing at the ready beside the cone-shaped conduits through which the fuel would be guided. Beside each one of the funnels were two of the  
Guiders.

The gates gave a sudden violent shudder as if a great weight was thrown against it. After a brief moment of silence the gate gave another shudder, then another, and another. The fiends were trying to break down the gates with a battering ram. With another shudder a large split formed into the thick wood and with each following hit grew bigger. Torches and burning oil, he knew, assaulted the attackers even as they attacked the gates, but it seemed their momentum was too much. The battle would be coming to him.

Finally there was a silence so very palpable it seemed to reverberate throughout the courtyard as if the world waited in silence. The gates, solid and protecting only moments ago, exploded sending shrapnel flying into the courtyard, a blast he knew must be magical of nature, for no battering ram could cause such damage.. A large chunk of the door barreled towards Grado. He jumped aside feeling the wind of the broken gate as it flew past but was otherwise unharmed. Others weren't so fortunate. Screams shattered the silence as if it were glass. The piece of the door that had barely missed Grado trapped a rough estimate of five under its bulk all dead save one who's leg lay lost under its massive weight. Grado ran to the soldier, his screams pounding in his head.

"Zallor!" he breathed in surprise. Grado and Zallor had faced down entire armies together they had both chewed the same dirt and the same mud. He watched Grado's back and he his. Zallor's face had been one of steel, hard and emotionless but now to see him withering in agony, his face contorted by pain, it was an unbearable thing to behold.

"Zallor it's going to be all right. I'll get you some help just hold on." Grado spun ready to call for aid but the words were lost as he caught sight of the courtyard. The fiends had used the surprise that struck the guard dumb to amass inside the gates, in order for the liquid flame to be set loose the enemy had to be driven back to the corridor of the gate so the men could retreat fifty paces lest the flame consume them as it would the enemy.

The army needed someone to lead them, Grado's duty was clear to him. He had always known, after all, that, in his profession, he would likely outlive many of his friends, just as many would outlive him. He called to several country folk near the back of the line to help Zallor any way they could, the best he could do for his friend. They seemed relived to be taken off the line even if it was at the back. Hefting a great shield Grado pulled an axe from his belt and sprinted to the front line. Heart pumping, all thoughts of Zallor were lost. He was now completely fallen into his role, reveling in the surge of adrenaline as he watched the fiends infiltrate his home. This was his home, and his element, he would not allow the likes of such horrid creatures to take it without a fight.

"Drive them back" he bellowed and gave a mighty cry as he charged into the enemy shield first and a rhythmic swing of his axe. His unrelenting bellows stirred the men and they followed suit. "Push them back, back to the pits" Grado yelled above the cries of his men.

Soldiers heaved, and heaved against the weight of the enemy forcing them back step-by-step both armies taking losses. Though it was mostly the fiends that fell, every loss to Dirn was devastating in its own way. Many of Dirn's soldiers fighting together had created a bond through the years and for Grado to see his friends falling around him filled the man with a great pain and also a strength like that which he'd never known. With more men gathering around him, he bellowed, once more willing his strength to the men, and together they pushed, pushed for all they had until finally they drove most of the enemy into the spike filled pits to their deaths. Those who weren't driven into the holes were driven out of the gates. It was a critical moment pushing the enemy too far out of the gates would allow more of them to strike and kill Grado's men but to retreat to soon would be to expose their backside to the enemy as well as to the mercy of the liquid flame.

Suddenly their forward momentum was drained as the fiends piled closer until Dirn's army came to a standstill unable to cut the enemy down as fast as they flooded in. Grado know that soon they would begin to lose their hard earned ground. Pain lanced Grado's arm as a fiend's claws raked him. Without thought he swung his axe nearly severing the ghoul's head completely. Grado knew it was time. "Ready lads?" he called, receiving a loud whoop in answer "Push and RUN!" he cried with every ounce of breath left to him. On the call every soldier gave one last forceful push before turning and running back into the courtyard like death itself was nipping at their heels. After they gained a short distance from the enemy bolts of lightning flashed overhead and into the fiends. It appeared that Claude had not abandoned the cause of his friend. After they had reached the safety of the first row barracks, the liquid fire was released upon the creatures.

The flames lit the fiends below as they descended upon them, eliciting an ear-splitting screech from the inhuman victims. As the group of the fiends scattered in their terror, the fire began to spread at the unnatural rate that could only mean it was being Guided. "Let them burn." Grado bellowed earning cheers that gained in momentum. He pounded his fist to his chest as he screamed at the enemy like a madman. He was caught up in the insanity of battle craving for more, needing more and on he screamed until his voice ran dry. With a last curse to the fiends he stalked reluctantly to the back of the line. It was then that he remembered the state in which he left Zallor. He ran back to the broken gate to find it no longer lay over dead bodies and that Zallor was nowhere to be found.

Grinning, he looked back to the gates and the flaming grounds that surrounded it; it seemed the fire was spreading quite nicely. This only caused his grin to grow wider as he cheered on with the rest of his men, those not currently facing the few monsters inside the gates who had avoided the flames.

The good humor did not last long. In a move that should have been anticipated, that would have been anticipated had Grado's instincts not been rusted from years of neglect, the courtyard was plunged into darkness. Where once there were flaming fiends, there was now nothing. Grado's smile died on his face. The void allowed a clear view out of the palace grounds to the endless horde standing on the fortress's doormat. His face paled and he knew now that this was the moment Claude had referred to, it was clear that Haylinger was lost. Looking at the impossibly large gathering it was easy to believe that even if every last one of them managed to kill a hundred of those fiends it would make little difference. They were all dead if they stayed.

He realized then that he must leave, give warning to other countries; rally an army against the threat. Perhaps if he were fast enough, he would be back in time to save Inglestoch on the western border. While all were still startled by the rapid change in lighting, he retreated back through the open double doors, running in the direction in which Claude had left, hoping that he would have expected this of him and located a way to escape.

He turned into a large corridor leading north, the last direction he had seen Claude go, running as quickly as his restricting armor allowed. Just as he was coming up to the bottom of a small staircase leading into a less commonly used part of the castle, three people suddenly came out into his path, a man and two children.

He threw his weight to one side, in attempt to avoid trampling one of the children, which resulted in him losing his balance. Arms flailing wildly, in what he was sure would be seen as a comical fashion, he fell to the ground. Strangely, though he supposed not so much considering recent events, there was no laughter from the children as he had expected. Even more strangely, though much to his relief, Claude's face was suddenly hovering above.

"So, you've decided to come after all, did you?" he asked with a grin, holding out his hand.

Grado ignored the hand and, with a growl that covered a curse that he deemed not suitable for the children, he rolled over and pushed himself to his knees, careful to avoid the blade of his axe.

"Would you please hurry up? I do not wish to know what will happen should we wait too long." One of the children chastised, a young girl. Rising to his feet, he was glad that he had practiced such maneuvers in the armor before; he was glad that he had at least not been stuck on his back like some sort of turtle.

Now on his feet, he turned to face Claude. "Do you have a plan?" he asked, hoping that Claude did. He estimated that, if the men fought properly and the enemies' necromancers no longer played a large role, they had maybe ten minutes before the enemy was inside the castle.

"In fact, I do." Claude began, a large smile forming on his face, "but it includes stairs. Many, many stairs. I'm afraid your armor can't come with us, not if we are to make it in time." Grado cursed, knowing Claude's words to be true, but not wanting to part with the armor.

"Oh, just get on with it. You'll have to change anyway, when we reach the pegasi." The girl scolded, her voice laced with impatience. She looked young, appearing to be twelve at the most, though her eyes and the way she spoke displayed a knowledge of someone older. The boy next to her was older looking, sixteen maybe, and looked far more mild in nature than the girl.

He felt strange removing his armor in the middle of the richly decorated corridor, wearing clothes that were only a thin layer of cotton underneath, but knew that they would need to hurry. Finally it was all off, and they started off at a quick jog, the children leading the way as if they knew where they all were headed. Likely, they did.

"Pegasi, then?" He asked, knowing the tone of his voice would convey to Claude that neither of them knew anything of flying, and that pegasi were very picky about who rode them anyway.

"Yes," Claude answered, gesturing to the children ahead of us. "Willis and Aoibheann here are stable hands in the North tower. They claim that a couple of the pegasi have taken a liking to them, and have graciously offered us passage with them, in return that we protect them."

As they ran, the haft of his axe beat against his leg methodically, the belt he was wearing beneath his armor not quite fitted to hold the weapon properly, though it served for the moment. He kept a hand at the top of the crescent shaped weapon, though more towards the spike that balanced it on its reverse side, to keep it from catching him as he ran.

His legs began to burn as they climbed higher and higher, the different appearances of the corridors between stairways meshing into one in his mind, retaining separate identity only when he looked to check where they were, to be sure they were on the right track. It was a relief when they finally reached the top of the north tower.

He rested against a wall, catching his breath and cursing at himself for having skipped some of the workouts that he had once done so often, as the children set about to work as if they had been at rest for hours. He did manage a grin though, upon spying Claude's state of being. Apparently monks didn't get exercise at all.

The children called out two names, Avery and Belle, and were instantly met by two pegasi. They began preparing the pegasi for flight, while he looked about the open rooftop of the tower.

Pegasi were not kept in stalls as horses were, it was claimed they were more intelligent than most creatures, except perhaps wyverns, by far. Rather, they were allowed to come and go as pleased, though a pegasus who was bound to a rider would never stray too far as to not be of aid should an attack come. Those unbound to a rider were still bound to the tower through family ties, though it was said that many lived wild in Itarcea  
and several other northern nations. Instead of the stalls, the roof appeared to be a large garden with walls that held things like saddles, and various weapons. Grado was surprised to see a bow among these weapons, as few pegasus riders would use them.

"Here, we are to wear these, for the temperatures when we fly." Claude came up to him, holding two very white cloaks. He donned it automatically, thanking him. He was surprised to see Willis grab the bow that he had just noticed. He hadn't known that they allowed stable hands weapons.

The children then brought the pegasi over to the general and the monk, Aoibheann pronouncing that Claude was to ride with her on Belle, as Avery was the stronger of the two pegasi and Willis and Grado the larger two riders.

"So, where are we headed?" Willis asked, his voice calm, if a little tight.

"We must go to the Union of Catori, they must be warned and prepare an army." Grado replied, striding up to Avery.

"So, north," Willis nodded to himself. "Let us be gone, then."

**A/N: And that's chapter one. Yes, we realize that it is, in word count, one-tenth the size of the average novel, but this is a fairly serious project. If you think that this should be continued, review and we'll work on it. Our thoughts for the rest of this are very focused, and I'm sure that, if motivated by the want of others, it will turn into a great story. Any criticisms are wanted as well, as we wish this to be the best it can be. Thank you.**


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